This
story
concerns adult and teenage gay
males who may be involved in sexual situations. If it is illegal for
you to
read such stories, or if you do not like to read such stories, please
leave
now.

This
story is
copyright 2006 by the author who retains all rights.

This
is a work
of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
either are the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

This is my
third submission to Nifty. This
story concerns a boy who is forced by his small hometown to be gay,
whether he
believes he is or not. While most of the bigotry and homophobia occurs
during
Zach’s senior year in high school, most of it does not appear in this
story. Except
for a few introductory paragraphs, this story takes place during Zach’s
freshman year in college, when he is free to discover who he is and
which life
path he is destined to follow. Any comments or questions are welcome
at: carl_holiday@att.net.

A warm
thank you goes out to all who
write. I appreciate knowing someone is actually reading this stuff,
whether you
like it or not. I try to answer all emails, although it sometimes takes
a
little time. If I'm remiss in replying to yours, I apologize.

The Pastel Cowboy

by Carl Holiday

Chapter 1 – Zach is Gay

"I’d gone on a
week-long
canoe trip on the Buffalo River in Arkansas with three of what used to
be my best
friends: Steve
Norris who was a wide receiver; Blake James a halfback; and, Todd
Benjamin, the
other halfback. We’d done it the year before and I was looking forward
to
another good time out in the wilderness during summer break before our
senior
year. You know, doing guy stuff. Well, anyway, there’s a big pool in
the river
that’s miles from any trail so you can only get to it by boat and
people who
know about it often go skinny-dipping there. We were splashing around
and,
actually, we were having a really good time. We weren’t paying much
attention
to anything, or anyone, around us.

"Todd was the one
who
first noticed the raft coming down the river. We walked out toward the
main
channel to where we stood deep enough so that we hoped nothing showed
and they
just smiled as they floated past. I knew they were well aware of what
we were
doing; and, there was a girl sitting on the back float who was the
prettiest
thing on Earth I’d ever seen. I mean she was wearing this t-shirt and
it was
more than obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. You should have seen the
way her
nipples were sticking out.

"‘Did you see her,’
Blake said after the raft floated out of sight. ‘Christ she was
beautiful.’

"‘I don’t doubt on
that,’ Todd said. ‘Not with that boner of yours.’

"‘Yeah, what about
you
and Steve?’ Blake said, pointing to the other boys’ erections. ‘What’s
your
problem, Zach? Still suffering from homosexuality? God, Zach, you’ve
always
been such a goddamn faggot. I don’t know why we even let you come with
us.’

"They beat the crap
out
of me, but had the decency to put my stuff on the beach and not in the
water.
Then they left me there. I don’t know what I would have done if park
rangers
hadn’t come down the river a few hours later. I told them my friends
had gotten
mad at me and put me on the side of the river. They took me down river
to a
place I could hike up to a highway and call my dad.

"I don’t know if it
was
the cold water, the shock of seeing the raft full of people, or being
embarrassed with my friends, but I couldn’t get an erection. God, I
wanted to,
but nothing happened. And, now I have three ex-friends who’ve spread it
around
town that I’m gay.”

They’d been working
all
morning without saying a word, which to Zach wasn’t all that unusual.
For as
long as he could remember, his father never said more than he needed
to, often
going for hours without saying anything to anyone. Being the youngest
son, Zach
wasn’t that much of a talker, either. Yet, he felt his father was
working up to
saying something in the way he didn’t cuss, even when he hit his thumb
with the
hammer.

The August sun was
well on
its way toward another scorcher when Zach pulled back on the come-along
another
notch on the ratchet, tightening the top wire almost too tight. Just
before the
ratchet set, Zach’s father flipped the release on the come-along
breaking the
tension on the barbed wire. Zach flinched away as the wire pulled out
of the
reel.

“What the hell was
that for?”
Zach asked.

“I was talking to
Bill James
down at the co-op yesterday afternoon when I went to get your mother’s
chicken
scratch,” his father said. “He had quite a different story to tell
about what
happened up on the Buffalo River
last month.”

“Oh,” Zach mumbled
as he
walked over to the pickup to get a swallow of water. His long-sleeved
cotton
work shirt was soaked with sweat. He’d never been interested in
gathering an
assortment of work-related scars across body, so he always kept his
shirt on
until they stopped for lunch.

“I hadn’t been in
town more
than an hour when Pastor Connally asked me to come over to the
parsonage this
evening,” his father said, coming up behind him and grabbing the ladle
out of
his hands. His father was almost a half foot shorter than Zach’s six
foot two
inches, but twice as strong with shoulders and arms strengthened at his
part-time job at the feed plant in Hannaford. The scar from just below
his left
eye down through his mouth to the jaw, caused by a clumsy bull at his
last
rodeo event, was a permanent white stripe across his sun darkened face.
After
taking a long swallow, he continued, “He wants me to bring your mother
with me.
He said he wants to discuss your future in the church. He said there
seems to
be something about you that might cause some of the other members to
question
your membership. He said something along the lines of you being an
abomination.”

Zach stared at the
come-along
back where they stopped working. He knew better than to interrupt his
father.
It might take him awhile to get out all he wanted to say, but Zach knew
enough
to just wait for his father to give him permission to speak.

“Seems that those
three other
boys you went canoeing with have a completely different version about
why you
hiked out of the canyon halfway through the trip. Seems they might have
had
reason to part company with you. I’m kind of at a loss for words to
describe
what Bill James said his son told him about you. Even with all my years
riding
rodeo, I never ran into anyone like what they’re saying you are. Zach,
I can’t
imagine what the hell gave you the idea that you could get away with
it. For
God’s sake, Carruthers is a small town.”

Zach continued to
stare at
anything except a small wad of hot air three feet behind his father. He
stepped
away from the back fender of the pickup and reached over to pick up the
ladle.
He didn’t see his father’s gloved fist until the last moment before it
slammed
into his face. Zach looked up from the dusty pasture into his father’s
anger
slitted eyes as his mouth filled with the salty sweet taste of blood.

“Why’d you do that?”

“From this moment
forward you
can consider yourself not welcome in my presence,” his father said,
leaning
over him, clenching his fist. “For your own safety, I’d think twice
about being
in the same acre with me. Your mother will allow you into our house, I
relented
on that, but I will never see you. You make sure of that. Now get out
of my
sight.”

“But, Dad, don’t
you want,
can’t I explain . . .”

Suddenly, Zach was
on his
feet, but he wasn’t controlling his movements. One gloved hand held his
shirt
while the other, tightened into a fist came in low against his gut.
Zach sank
back down to his knees. Holding himself, he stared at his father’s
dusty boots.
As his eyes slowly worked their way up his father’s work jeans, he
blinked
uncontrollably when he saw the empty holster.

He was running,
now, running
away from the sound of the .38 pistol his father kept handy for snakes.
He
tried not noticing the puffs of dust ahead of him as the bullets went
to
ground. Although his heart was pounding more from fear than the run,
Zach
didn’t stop until he reached the tank, spooking a couple white-faced
yearlings
on the far side. He looked back, but the low rise between them kept his
father
hidden from his view.

Up until that hot
August,
Zach's bedroom hadn't been much more than a place to sleep and do his
homework.
The computer his parent's gave him for Christmas during his freshman
year was
barely used and often weeks passed when Zach never turned it on. Now,
his
bedroom was the only place in Carruthers,
Oklahoma, where he felt a modicum of
safety. Only
here he
couldn't hear the taunts and jeers of farmers at the co-op, mothers at
the
grocery store, or his former friends down at Glasgow
Beach on Eufaula Lake. Lying on his bed, he
wasn't in danger of
being
beaten up as happened at the co-op and at the beach. With the door
closed, he
didn't have to listen to his father's unending words of disgust that
his
youngest son was a homosexual.

Zach didn’t want to
think
what school would be like on Monday. He wondered if he’d be permitted
to play
football. He was the quarterback, after all. He was all-state last
year. They had
to keep him on the team. He hadn’t seen Coach Benson all summer, but he
knew
Dr. Clark, the principal, called his mother on Saturday, asking her
something.
He tried to listen, but she took the call on the mobile phone and went
into the
bathroom.

"Yes?" Zach said in
response to the faint knock at his door.

"Your father and I
are
going into Hannaford for a few things," his mother said, sticking her
head
in the barely opened door. "Do you need us to pick up anything for
school
tomorrow?"

"No, Ma'am," Zach
said. Her head disappeared and the door quietly shut, the latch
clicking
faintly. Zach heard the back screen door slap shut and his father's
restored
’76 Monte Carlo rumble to life. He went to the
window to
watch them
head out the dusty drive toward the county highway. Her rejection of
him was
the hardest to accept. She tolerated him more than his father, but Zach
had
expected her to at least listen to his side of the story. She talked to
him
when she needed to, but never put herself between him and his father.

His father
lightened up a
little when he realized Zach was still a good source of free labor and
there
were a few things to be done on the ranch that went a lot easier with
two men.
Except, those jobs were few and one of them hadn't come up on his
father's
schedule, yet. Zach did his chores, but his father never checked to see
if
things were done right. If Zach had a question about something, he'd
put it to
his mother who came back with the answer. He no longer feared his
father, but
they were never close enough for anything good, or bad, to happen.

Of all the things
that
changed after the canoe trip on the Buffalo River, the reason for his
friends
to single him out as being a queer was the most difficult to
understand. They'd
all grown up together. They'd seen each other jerk off, but because he
didn't
get an erection when the other boys did, they said he was gay.

At that moment in
his young
life Zach wasn't too certain he wasn't.

Zach couldn’t
remember ever
being called to the principal’s office, even back in elementary school.
He
never went to the vice-principal’s office, either. As he sat quietly on
one of
the straight-backed, yellow oak chairs obviously designed to make
students
physically uncomfortable to coincide with whatever mental anguish they
were
going through. The two secretaries ignored him as they chatted and
worked at
their computers. Zach knew why he was there. He fully expected to be
expelled,
forced to leave school before getting a chance to explain his side of
the
story, giving the bumpkins’ bigotry another triumph. Yet, Dr. Clark
wasn’t from
Carruthers, so Zach wasn’t certain how the meeting might turn out.

“Zachary
Alexander?” Dr.
Clark said, as he stepped out of his door. He was taller up close than
he
appeared on the stage in the cafetorium and he was built like a tight
end.

“Yes, sir,” Zach
said,
standing up. He took the principal’s offered hand and hoped his grip
was enough
to convince the older man he wasn’t a limp wristed fairy.

“Come on into my
office,
Zachary. Estelle, please call Coach Benson and ask him to come up here.”

There was a desk
back in the
corner with a computer monitor on a stand at the right. Bookshelves
covered two
walls and a credenza with a leafy houseplant sat under the windows on
the third
wall. An uncomfortably looking blue vinyl sofa took up most of the
fourth wall,
facing the windows. Zach shivered at the chill in the air, thinking
he’d
finally figured out where all the school’s cool air went.

“Have a seat,” Dr.
Clark said
pointing at another yellow oak chair facing his desk. “I want you to
know,
right off, that I’m disappointed, Zachary.”

“Yes, sir,” Zach
said as he
sat in the chair. Dr. Clark remained out of sight behind him.

“Zachary, when I
first heard
about your situation from one of the members on the school board, I
want you to
know, I was shocked that you thought you could keep this a secret here
in
Carruthers. In nearly thirty years of working in high school education
in Oklahoma, I’ve never
encountered a boy like you.”

Oh, God, Zach
thought to
himself, he really thinks I’m gay.

“Zachary, I have a
problem,
though,” Dr. Clark said, walking around the desk and sitting down in
his
high-back, red leather executive chair. He stared at Zach for a moment,
then
swiveled around and tapped a few keystrokes into his computer. “You’re
not a
run of the mill student. You’ve haven’t received less than an “A” all
through
high school. If this thing hadn’t come up, you’d probably be
Valedictorian at
graduation. Except, this year we’ll have to settle for second best.”

Zach thought about
saying
something, but decided against tempting fate.

“If you had a few
“B’s” or
“C’s” I’d expel you right now and not have any second thoughts. You
disgust me.
You could have gotten a full-ride to either Norman or Stillwater, but,
now,
you’ll be lucky to find a
community
college that will accept you.”

“That was Coach
Benson, he’s
busy trying to figure out who’ll replace you as quarterback this year,
and
won’t be able to join us,” Dr. Clark said, turning to look out the
window. “He
wasn’t really interested in coming up here, anyway. Let me give you a
bit of
advice, stay away from him. Carruthers was almost certain to take the
State
Championship again this year, but you’ve ruined that, Zachary. There
are a few
seniors who were hoping for scholarships, but they won’t be getting any
because
the scouts won’t be coming to see us lose.”

Zach didn’t know
what to say,
what to offer as an excuse, an explanation. Obviously, Principal Clark
and
Coach Benson weren’t looking for Zach’s explanation about the incident.
They’d
already made up their minds.

“Zachary, you will
not be
permitted to go out for any sports this year,” Dr. Clark said, getting
out of
his chair and walking to the window. “Also, you will not take any
Physical
Education classes. I do not want to tempt fate and put you in a room
with other
naked boys. God Almighty! Zachary you make me sick.”

“I will not have
anyone take
that attitude with me,” Dr. Clark said, walking around his desk and
sitting
down. “Mrs. Deere has your revised schedule. You will be permitted to
attend
classes at Carruthers High
School. You
will not be permitted to participate in any extra-curricular
activities. You
will not attend any school sponsored events. If you have to use the
library,
you will notify the office and the secretaries will arrange for a
faculty
member to escort you. Give me any excuse, Zachary Alexander, and I will
expel
you from Carruthers High
School faster than you think possible. Now, get out of my office and
take that
chair
with you. I don’t want any of your filth remaining in my office.”

* * *

Almost exactly nine
months
later, Zach was getting out of his dirty Ford Ranger 4X4 in the guest
parking
lot behind Caine Hall at North Park College, in North
Park, Washington, a
small city immediately north of its
younger and
bigger sister, Seattle. He chose North Park
simply because it had a
summer entry program for freshmen and he needed to get out of his house
right
after graduation; and, well, it was close to where his former uncle
lived.
(When Aunt Louise married David she didn’t know about his predilection
for men,
but when she did find out after nearly thirty years of marriage, she
divorced
him quicker than the family thought was quite right.)

The bruising from
Zach’s last
beating had mostly faded from his face, but a rather severe one under
his shirt
on this right side was still ugly. He wasn’t allowed to go to the
graduation
ceremony since it was a school function so he went into Hannaford to
get a few
last items for his trip to North Park. After
wandering around
Wal-Mart for longer than he expected, he decided a chocolate milkshake
at Bud’s
Burgers sounded good. Unfortunately, a few seniors from Carruthers
decided the
same thing sounded good after getting their diplomas. Zach never had a
chance
to get away. As he always did, he tried to defend himself, but with
seven against
one, his chances of winning were close to zero. The only consolation
out of
this fight was knowing for certain Blake’s jaw was broken and Todd’s
shoulder
had certainly been wrenched enough to give him trouble catching a
football, but
he ended up bleeding and bruised in the gravel when the deputy sheriff
showed
up. He looked at that final fight as sort of a graduation gift, one
more reason
never to go back to Carruthers.

His parents added
thirty-five
thousand to the fifteen thousand he had in the bank for college.
According to
his father, “This will help you get started in life, since you’re not
going to
be coming back to us for any help.” No, thought Zach, I have no reason
to ever
go back home.

And, so, he walked
into Caine
Hall to start the process of becoming a college student.

After three hours
of forms
and writing more checks than he could ever remember, he was assigned to
Bruce
Stuart to escort him to Boyle Hall, where he’d be living during summer
quarter.
When he saw what might have been a boy, but he wasn’t too certain about
that,
walking down the hall towards him, Zach suspected his reputation had
preceded
him from Carruthers. Bruce’s hair was up in a bun, he had green eye
shadow, and
bright red lipstick. He walked with a swish like he was a debutante at
a ball.
One hand was held up with the wrist and fingers bent like they were
limp, but
he’d wave at people as he passed them. He was shorter than Zach, but
seemed to
be fit, like a swimmer or long distance runner.

He stopped in front
of where
Zach was sitting and said, “Hi, you must be Zach. You can call me
René. Most
people who’ve met me call me René the Fairy, but I don’t mind.
Do you mind?”

The voice was
heavily
accented, but the lisp was imprecise, almost as if it was artificial.
The
accent was European, but Zach couldn’t figure out what country.
René, or Bruce,
reminded Zach of Anthony Blanche in the BBC
mini-series Brideshead Revisited,
which his Uncle David gave
him for Christmas when he was only ten and very much into all things
British.
He watched the tape until it broke, but his parents wouldn’t let him
buy
another.

Zach stood up and
held out
his hand. Bruce, or rather René, took it and kissed it, causing
everyone in the
office to laugh. Zach hated being the butt of their joke. He didn’t
know if it
was because they heard he was gay or because he was from the Nowhere,
Oklahoma,
where dolts, hicks, and dunderheads lived.

“Very nice to meet
you,
René,” Zach said, in a loud voice, while clicking the heels of
his shitkickers
together and saluting like a proper German officer. “If you will
accompany me,
my pickup is out back.”

René smiled
at him and said,
“Okay, cute boy, I’ll follow you anywhere. Are you a real cowboy?”

“Yeah, I’ve
castrated a few
calves in my day.”

“Ew, yuk, that’s
disgusting.”

“Not as bad as
slipping in a
barn yard full of cow shit and landing in a puddle of cow piss.”

“Okay, okay, stop
with the
graphics. Do you do rodeo?”

“No, that was my
father’s
gig. I used to play football and some baseball in the spring.” He
didn’t know
why he said that, he hadn’t been able to do any sports last year.
Though, he
did join a health club in Hannaford to stay fit.

“I like football
players,”
René said. “They’re so strong and muscular. Were you the
quarterback?”

“Yes, I was the
quarterback.”

“I bet you’re a
great
quarterback.”

“I wouldn’t know, I
didn’t
play last year.”

“You weren’t sick
were you?”

“No, they think I’m
gay and
wouldn’t let me play with the other boys.”

Zach wasn’t
surprised René,
or Bruce, didn’t came back with a snappy reply, but at least he said
it, got it
out, put it on the table. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t about to
hide from
it here. If they wanted him to be queer, well that’s the way it had to
be. He
was starting out new and fresh, but people talk and people were bound
to learn
what happened back in Carruthers. You had to expect people to find out,
that’s
the way life worked.

Zach unlocked the
passenger
door and opened it for René. When he got in on the driver’s
side, Zach sat for
a moment. He’d never, consciously been this close to someone who was
probably
very gay. He suspected René, or rather Bruce, was gay, but it
may have been
some sick joke, too. René was a walking gay cliché. He
couldn’t imagine anyone
doing so much to look so obviously queer.

“Are you like this
all the
time?” Zach asked. “Or, is there some person under there hiding from
reality?”

He looked over at
the person
sitting in the passenger seat, but all he saw was the back of a head.
He’d hit
a nerve and was sorry he thought René was just show.

“Look, I’m sorry,
okay?” Zach
said reaching over and touching René’s shoulder. He felt more
muscle than he
expected. “Come on, how do I get to my dorm?”

“Head over that
way,” Bruce
said in a voice without a trace of accent or lisp and pointing toward
the west
exit.

“It’s okay,” he
whispered. A
tear welled up in one eye and dribbled down his cheek, smearing his
makeup.

That night, after
getting
everything he needed into his dorm room and the rest locked away in a
storage
facility a few miles from the college, plugging his laptop in the DSL
outlet
and making sure he could access his ISP, making his bed, eating
something in
the cafeteria the college called food, and feeling like a total jerk
for
catching Bruce at his game, Zach sat down on his bed and punched Uncle
David’s
number into his cell phone. Somewhere deep in his gut the stuff that
looked
like lasagna was having a difficult time adjusting to its temporary
residence,
causing Zach to wonder if he’d get through this call. Finally, the ring
tones
stopped and a voice said, “Hello?”

“Uncle David?”

“Who?” Oh, god,
Zach thought,
the number’s too old. He knew he should have looked up David Brandon in
the
Internet.

“David Brandon, is
he there?”

“Just a minute. Can
I ask who
is calling?”

“His nephew, Zach
Alexander.”

After a couple
belches, one
of which was slightly juicy and made Zach’s throat burn, a different
voice came
on.

“Hello?”

“Uncle David, this
is Zach
Alexander.”

“Zachary, is
everything okay
with your parents?”

“I wouldn’t know,
sir, I
haven’t seen them in a week.”

“Okay, uh, did you
run away
from home, then?”

“No, Uncle David,
I’m
seventeen. I just moved into my dorm room at North
Park College
and thought I should call.”

“Oh, I guess, I
shouldn’t
have called. I’m sorry, I just thought you might, ah, fuck it!”

Zach hung up and
listened to
his stomach growling at the lasagna. Another sour burp let him know
something was
not happy. Then his phone barked like a little dog, letting him know
the caller
was unlisted and either a sales call or a wrong number. He answered,
anyway.

“Zachary?”

“Yeah?”

“This is your, uh,
Uncle
David. Why did you just hang up on me?”

“How did you get my
number so
quick?”

“Caller ID,
everyone’s got it
these days and you’re not unlisted. Now, what’s the problem?”

“No problem, sir, I
just
wanted to let my favorite uncle know I was in town.”

“Does this have
anything to
do with the letter I received from your parents a few months ago
letting me
know you applied to North Park College, wherever the hell that is, and
that you
are a homosexual and that I should not talk to you if you come up here
because
you’re an abomination, I think that’s what it said. Frankly, I threw it
away.”

“Oh, fuck! Those
stupid
fundamentalist, homophobic, bastards. God, will it never end?”

“Zachary? Zach?
Calm down,
Zachary.”

“I gotta go. I’ll
call you
back a few minutes.”

He ran to the
bathroom he
shared with four other rooms and went into the first stall. The lasagna
and
everything else came up. When he was certain his stomach was finished
rejecting
what was supposed to be food, Zach went to the sink, washed his face
and rinsed
the vomit out of his mouth. He looked in the mirror and saw a young
man, well
almost a young man, looking back. The bruise under his left eye was
almost
gone, but the one around his right eye was still a little obvious.
René said he
was cute, but Zach expected René said that to all the boys. He
went back to his
room and called Uncle David.

“Hello?”

“This is Zach,
sorry, dinner
disagreed with me.”

“Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all
right. I was
hoping you might understand. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

“Did they kick you
out?”

“Yeah, out of the
family.
They gave me some money not to be their son anymore. I got to stay
until I
graduated from high school, then I had to hit the road. I came here
because I
could get in for summer quarter. I’m sorry if I troubled you. I won’t
call,
again.”

“Zachary, please.
Now, do you
need any money?”

“No, I’ve got lots.
I’ve been
running my own herd of cows for nearly ten years. Dad lets his kids do
that for
college money. I had to do all the work, but got to keep all the gross,
he
picked up the expenses. It was a pretty good deal, actually. Plus, they
gave me
a bunch, I suppose to keep me away for good. Rather decent for a
fundamentalist, homophobic bastard, don’t you think?”

“You hate them,
don’t you?”

“No, not
completely. They
could’ve kicked me out last summer when it all started, but let me stay
until I
graduated. They even paid the doctor bills when I got beat up. Every
time,
which is surprising, too.”

“Zachary, I need to
see you.
Um, let’s see, I’m busy tomorrow, but how about I take you out to
dinner
tomorrow night. It’s Saturday and we could go get seafood. You like
seafood,
don’t you?”

“Uncle David,
seafood in my
neck of the woods is catfish and they don’t even swim in the sea, but I
have
been to Long John Silver’s in Hannaford for their deep fried greasy
stuff. I
suppose you could call that seafood, right?”

“No, I know a much
better
place and they don’t use batter on anything. You’ll have to try the
salmon.
It’s delicious.”

“Salmon? Wasn’t he
one of the
patriarchs?”

“You’ve been
reading your
Bible, too much.”

“You kind of get in
the habit
when you have to.”

“Give me a street
corner and
I’ll have Paul pick you up.”

“Uh, out front of
the dorm
it’s College
Way
and, I think, MacArthur Boulevard.
There’s a bus stop on the corner, I think.
That’s
what the map shows. I’m in J C Boyle Hall.”

“J C Boyle, huh?
She
certainly gets her name around a lot.”

“Huh?”

“The Boyle’s were
pioneers in
North Park. Owned a bunch of trees, then cut
them all
down, made
a ton of money and sent J C and her brothers back east to some fancy
college. J
C is famous in North
Park, mostly because
she never, ever went by Jennifer
Christine. Look her up in the history books, she was quite a character.”

“You seem to know a
lot.”

“I’m a writer. I
have to do
research, and, well, some characters stick in your mind, especially
eccentrics
like J C. Okay, are we on for tomorrow night?”

“Sure, I’ll wear my
fancy
snakeskin boots and my best Stetson.”

“Still a cowboy,
huh?”

“Fall on your ass
in cow shit
enough times and it gets forced into you.”

“See you tomorrow
night. And,
Zachary, thanks for calling. Things will work out.”

“Thank you, Uncle
David.”

The following
afternoon Zach
was in his room deciding what to wear. Uncle David said they were going
to a
fancy restaurant so he knew his best clothes had to be worn. The
snakeskin
boots and black Stetson were obvious, but in between he had to choose
carefully. He wanted to look as cowboy as he could. The red, white, and
black
plaid shirt with mother of pearl buttons hung tightly across his
shoulders then
tapered down to his slender waist accentuating the classic V. The blue
jeans
were his best, not a loose seam anywhere, they were tight enough even
Dwight
Yoakum would appreciate how he looked. He wasn’t certain why he thought
of
Dwight Yoakum, but maybe it was the tight jeans.

He made it down to
the corner
in plenty of time and stood there in the sunlight feeling better than
he’d felt
in months. Just like Uncle David said, things were going to work out
for him.
He was going to get past what they did to him in Carruthers and he was
going to
feel good about this queer thing they forced upon him.

“Are you a real
cowboy?” A
voice said. Zach turned and looked at what he thought was a little boy,
maybe
not much over thirteen.

“Yeah, I guess you
could say
that,” Zach said feeling warm that someone recognized him for what he
was and
not because he might be gay.

“Good, I was afraid
you were
trying to work this corner,” the kid said. “If you don’t know, the cops
around
here don’t like any business occurring so close to campus.”

“What?” Zach stared
at the
little boy, then suddenly saw the face seemed older, a lot older than
thirteen,
a lot older than himself. The body was skinny, anorexic skinny. The
jeans were
tight, emphasizing skinny legs and hiding whatever should have been in
the
crotch.

“You are! You are a
cowboy!”

“Yeah, I said that,
but who,
or what, are you? Do you go to North Park College?”

“Nopaco? Yeah, I’m
in the
graduate program. I’m working on a MFA in art. I paint. Do you really
like
wearing those jeans?”

“Yeah, they’re my
best pair.”

“You’re not from
around here,
are you? New student?”

“Yeah, I’m from Oklahoma.
Name’s Zach?” He held out his hand, not
expecting
anything more than a dead fish.

“I thought I heard
a bit of Dixie
in your voice. I’m Steven, originally from Midland, Texas, but I left
when I was twelve,
over ten
years ago.
I’ve worked real hard to drop the accent.” The grip was firm, cowboy
firm.

“It hasn’t worked,
you know.”

“Yeah, Texas doesn’t let
go very easily. You know those
jeans are
awfully tight, tighter than mine. I’m sorry, but do you realize
advertising
like that can get you in trouble in this town.”

“Advertising what?”

“Damn, Zach, you
are from the
sticks, aren’t you? Oh shit! There’s my ride, gotta go. See you around
kiddo.”
A big black Cadillac with dark tinted windows pulled into the bus stop.
The
back door opened revealing nothing except a lot of dark air.

“Hey! What am I
advertising?”

“You gotta big
dick!” Steven
yelled just before getting into the car. He gave a little wave and
closed the
door. The car sped off in the lumbering way of all limos.

Zach looked down at
his
bulge. He never thought about it before, but suddenly realized the
jeans were
doing a great job of emphasizing his most important asset. The more he
thought
about it, the better he felt. He knew lots of guys who wore jeans as
tight as
his who looked like they didn’t have anything in the dick compartment.
Yeah,
this was going to work, he thought.

Then he thought of
what Steven
had said about working this corner and getting into trouble. He tried
to
imagine what Steven was talking about and what that had to do with
advertising
his big dick, but he couldn’t come up with any logical reason for such
a
comment. What was he working at? A corn horn broke his train of thought.

It was a silver
Mercedes
sedan, big. It had to be at least a 500 something, not that Zach had
all that
much experience with Mercedes from living in Carruthers. Oh, there were
a few
prowling around advertising big spreads and oil money, but they weren’t
all
that practical with the nearest dealer over a hundred miles away.

“You Zach?” The
driver yelled
through the open passenger window.

“Yeah,” Zach said
opening the
door. The man had to be in his forties with short hair graying at the
edges,
but looked fit like he worked out. “You’re Paul, right?”

“Hurry up get in, I
don’t
want anybody getting the wrong idea.”

Zach sat down and
Paul pulled
out into traffic, slamming the passenger door.

“In a hurry?” Zach
asked,
fastening his seat belt.

“You don’t have a
clue, do
you kid?”

“Does this have
anything to
do with what that other guy said about me working that corner?”

“Yeah, probably,
but what
other guy?”

“Said his name was
Steven.
With me just a moment before you pulled up. Left in a big black limo.”

“He’s modeled for
me on
occasion when I need a young kid in a painting. It saves a lot of
paperwork and
legal shit, besides having to have a chaperone which I don’t work with
very
well. He’s a whore, basically. He was probably trying to get you off
his
corner, but why he’s working the streets, again, is beyond me. He
should have
his clients coming to his front door.”

“He said he’s in
the graduate
program.”

“Yeah, he thinks
he’s a
painter, but he’ll never be anything more than a school teacher who has
a
hobby. He’s okay, but not good enough.”

“So you thought I
was a
whore, too?”

“No, I knew who you
were. I
was just hoping nobody saw you get in the car. I don’t need any cops
stopping
us and having to explain you’re just a naïve cowboy from, where?
Oklahoma?”

“Yeah. So what is
it? The
bulge in my pants?”

“The cowboy gear
isn’t
something you see around here and, yeah, you’re packing quite a load
there,
kid. Not a lot of boys go around these days wearing tight jeans showing
off
their cocks and butt. You got a cute butt, too, by the way. No, most
kids wear
pants so baggy you can’t tell if they’ve got cocks, or not.”

Zach looked out the
window
wondering what he’d got himself into. There weren’t a lot of kids out,
but the
few he saw as Paul headed out to the interstate were all wearing loose,
baggy
pants, almost like dresses they were so loose. He couldn’t imagine ever
trying
to run from a pissed off bull in pants like that, let alone trying to
get up on
a horse. And, the way they walked with one hand holding up their pants,
waddling to prevent their pants from dropping down to their ankles,
they looked
so stupid. No, he’d keep his tight jeans. They were practical. They
made him
look like a cowboy.

Zach tried to
imagine what
all this queer shit was about. Back in Carruthers it had been so easy.
Everyone
just assumed he was gay and he didn’t have to do anything to prove them
right
or wrong. They just hated him. But, up here, he’d met René the
Fairy who was so
obvious it was scary. Then today he runs into Steven, and then Paul,
who thinks
he looks like some kind of whore selling sex. Why couldn’t he just be a
cowboy?
It was so simple, except cowboys didn’t like queers. That’s what his
father
told him. There were no queer cowboys. Only, Zach suspected that wasn’t
true.
Queer cowboys just didn’t go around advertising. And, then he knew.
He’d been
advertising. “Hey! Look at me, I’ve got a big dick. Want it?”

It was too
confusing. He’d
have to ask Uncle David about it, but could he really do that? He
didn’t know
Uncle David, except from years ago when he was a little kid and Uncle
David and
Aunt Louise came down to Carruthers a couple times with their kids for
visits
during the summer. And, what did he want to know? Being queer meant
liking
guys, not girls. But, what was the deal with Bruce dressing up to be
René the
Fairy; and, what about Steven looking like a little kid. Was that an
act, too?
And, was his cowboy gear the same thing? It was just too confusing.

It looked like they
were
going downtown, but at the exit Paul headed left up a hill. He turned
right and
they went up a steeper hill. He made a left turn up further then
stopped in
front of a tall building. He took out his cell phone and pushed a
couple
buttons.

“Fuck! Why can’t I
just be a
cowboy? Why does being queer have to be so damn difficult? First it’s
René the
Fairy . . .”

“You met
René?”

“Yeah, he helped me
get to my
dorm yesterday. He’s weird, but why does Bruce have to act like that?”

“Who is Bruce?”

“The boy who is
underneath
all that René the Fairy shit. He doesn’t even talk like
René. It’s all an act.
And, Steven looking like a little kid. He does that on purpose, doesn’t
he?”

“Yeah, he gets more
money for
looking younger.”

“And, me dressed
like a
cowboy with tight jeans that show off my dick. God, what a fuckin’ fool
I must
look like. Just like some dumb cowboy from Oklahoma,
right?”

“Sorry, but it’s
either that
or a hustler. We don’t get that many cowboys in this town, especially
ones
walking around with seven inch dicks. Standing on that corner, you
looked like
you were selling something.”

“God, I feel so
stupid.”

“Well, stupid or
not, you’re
going to have to get in the backseat. There’s David now. Go on, get it
over
with. He’ll only be mad for a little bit. You’re family, he can’t get
too mad.”

Zach got out of the
car and
saw his uncle’s eyes wash over him, zeroing in on the prominence in his
jeans. Zach
was doing the same thing. Uncle David was big, tall, and definitely in
his
fifties. He looked fit, too, kind of like an older, retired linebacker
for the
Dallas Cowboys. Then he saw a smile. When Uncle David came close he
wrapped his
arms around Zach and held him close in a tight hug. Then whispered in
his ear,
“Your pants are too tight.”

“I know,” Zach
whispered.
Then was shocked out of his boots when Uncle David kissed him on the
cheek,
close to his mouth. He wondered if this was a gay thing, too.

“Come on, we’ve got
to do
something with those pants,” Uncle David said opening the backdoor.
Zach got in
wondering what could be done with his jeans.

“Isn’t there a
Western
clothing store down in Renton?”
Uncle David asked.

“Yeah, I know where
it is,”
Paul said. “Going to buy him some new pants?”

“Definitely! I’m
not about to
take him to some restaurant and have every man in there thinking his my
boy. A
cowboy’s okay, but not some twenty dollar hustler from Dick’s (a local
drive-in) parking lot. Sorry Zach, but you look like a cheap whore.”

“I know, Paul told
me. I’m
sorry, I was just trying to look nice. I didn’t know being gay was so
complicated.”

“Do you have anyone
to show
you around town?” Uncle David asked as Paul headed back down the hill
toward
the interstate. “I was thinking I could hire someone to show you
around.”

“Who were you
thinking of?”
Paul asked.

“Steven O’Brien. I
know he’s
primarily a prostitute, but for the right amount of money I’m sure he’d
be
willing to help Zach get acclimatized to Seattle.
I definitely know he doesn’t give out
freebies, so
if he knows I’m not paying for that, he’ll do what I ask.”

Zach sat in the
backseat
listening to all of this wondering if they were talking about the
skinny guy
he’d seen earlier. He was more than willing to just learn about
everything on
his own and kind of felt embarrassed his uncle would pay someone to
show him
around. On the other hand, if it was Steven, then maybe he could ask
about the
queer shit, too. Like about René and Steven, too. And, well,
maybe he could
convince Steven to do some things. He wondered how much having sex with
Steven
would cost.

Well, there we go,
first
chapter out the door to establish the pattern for the story. If you’re
wondering, there is a young man who was the inspiration for Zach, but
he doesn’t
live in Oklahoma and,
probably, isn’t gay. He’s just cute as
hell,
which probably means he definitely isn’t gay. It seems to be one of the
universal laws of nature that the cutest guys are straight.

Chapter 2 will be
along in a
week, or so. The way it’s been going, I’ve been waking up in the middle
of the
night and knocking off a couple thousand words before going back to
sleep, but
with my job (long haul trucker) the middle of the night could be five
o’clock
in the afternoon, and often is.

Take care, be safe,
and
remember to speed up when merging into traffic.